


O, Answer Me

by jessalae



Category: Hamlet - Shakespeare
Genre: 5 Times, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 11:03:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2809937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessalae/pseuds/jessalae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four letters Hamlet sent from Wittenberg, and one he received.</p>
            </blockquote>





	O, Answer Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brontevindicator](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brontevindicator/gifts).



| _one_ |  
 _H. to his venerable father, king of Denmark, greeting. This is to inform you that I am studying at Wittenberg with the greatest diligence, but the matter of money stands greatly in the way of my promotion, as it is now two months since I spent the last of what you sent me. The city is expensive and makes many demands; I have to rent lodgings, buy necessaries, and provide for many other things which I cannot now specify. While your royal name proves currency enough in society's marketplace, the good landlords and food sellers of the city require some more tangible currency if I am to remain housed and fed. Therefore, I respectfully beg your paternity that by the promptings of divine pity you may assist me, so that I may be able to complete what I have well begun. Loving regards to my dear mother, and I thank you for your generous patronage. Yours, etc., Hamlet_

Horatio handed the letter back to Hamlet and glanced incredulously around his friend's lodgings. "'If I am to remain housed and fed'? I think you are in no danger of starvation, my lord, nor of being evicted."

"This is the usual form of these letters," Hamlet said, waving a hand dismissively and settling back onto his plump feather mattress. "Noble father, etcetera, hard at study, etcetera, dressed in rags and supping on moldy bread, etcetera, send a fat purse. I should not like to stray far from a recipe that has brought so many of my fellow students success."

"I can attest to its efficacy," Horatio said, "But do you truly lack for funds? Last week you bought my supper at the tavern, and waved me off when I offered my share of the bill. If that was the last of your purse--"

"No, no, that was nothing." Hamlet heaved himself up and came over to the desk, leaning past Horatio to rummage through the piles of papers in search of sealing wax. "A trifling expense."

"Then what has happened in the meantime? Have you wagered unwisely?"

"One might say so," Hamlet said ruefully. "In conversation with our dear friend Rosencrantz, I remarked that if young Clement fell asleep once more in Master Arnoldus's lecture, we would then see an entertainment more vicious than the gladiator fights of ancient Rome. He, in turn, proposed that Master Arnoldus, while bold and cutting in his disputations, would never have the courage to confront a student so hulking and brutish as good Clement, for fear of a return blow. Our wager set, we watched intently this morning."

"And did Clement sleep?" Horatio asked, knowing full well the answer.

"He did, and heavy as his eyelids were, so heavy was the purse I owed to Rosencrantz," Hamlet said. He held a stick of wax over one of the many tapers that lit the room, letting fat red drops onto the folded letter. "But fear not, Horatio, my father will prove generous. In a month's time we will be back to our accustomed life of finery."

"You style yourself 'we,' though your father yet lives?" Horatio joked.

Hamlet shot him a look. "You and I, Horatio. For, being my fast friend, you are one of those many other unspecified things I must provide for."

"And for that I thank you," Horatio said. "Though if you insist on driving yourself to ruin by staking your income on the courage of scholars, I had perhaps best find a wiser patron."

"Fie on your wisdom," Hamlet said. "Come, we will find a messenger to bear this note to Elsinore."

| _two_ |

“Thy beauteous locks--”

“Shimmering golden--”

“No, the metre is wrong. Thy beauteous locks, that golden shimmer… so? It needs another beat.”

“Gentlemen, you would do well to note that Hades itself will grow ice cold before any phrase so tawdry as that will mar this parchment.”

Horatio grabbed a stool and sat himself down next to Hamlet, across from Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. “A poem?”

“For the lovely Ophelia,” Guildenstern said with a grin.

“The _beauteous_ Ophelia,” corrected Rosencrantz. “Although my lord has rejected that word a dozen times now.”

“And will continue to reject it, though it return weekly like that pustule on your forehead.” Hamlet wrote a few more words, then sat back and stared at his parchment in despair. “Damnation. This is all wrong.”

“Perhaps another flagon of wine will wake your muse,” Guildenstern hinted, draining his cup.

“Or a haunch of mutton, well-seasoned with garlic.”

“Go then, you vultures, speak with the mistress of the house,” Hamlet said, drawing a coin out of his purse and tossing it across the table. “Though it serve less to wake my muse than to quiet my friends, it cannot impede my progress any more than you two now do.”

Horatio craned his neck to look over Hamlet’s shoulder. “This is quite good,” he said. “Or at least it started so.”

“I cannot find the ending,” Hamlet said mournfully. “It’s months since I was at Elsinore, and will be months more till I return. Her image lives vivid in my mind, and her voice in my ear, but to her I am but a portrait and a few lines of poetry -- and yet I would have her love me still. What can I say that would not sound like an empty promise?”

“Tell her the truth,” Horatio suggested. “That you know your promises are worth the parchment they’re written on, nothing more, but that you hope she thinks on you as often as you on her.”

“Honesty as the best policy?” Hamlet took a sip of his now-cold wine and made a face. “Some would call it madness, when dealing with a woman.”

“You are making yourself mad now, trying to dance around the matter as it stands,” Horatio said. “Give the lady some better credit. Would you love her, had she not a good mind inside her head?” Horatio grinned. “Underneath those beauteous, shimmering, golden--”

“Go to,” Hamlet said, laughing and shoving Horatio in the shoulder. “You have been most helpful -- now, continue so, by distracting our friends with a game of dice or some lively conversation. I must write.”

_My divine Ophelia,_  
 _Though months have passed since last I saw your face_  
 _And miles untravel’d stretch between our beds_  
 _My mind’s eye sees your smile, your artless grace,_  
 _Your dainty step, each hair upon your head_  
 _And every detail clearly as the day._  
 _Mine ear your laughter hears in silent halls_  
 _Your conversation, thoughts, and counsel gay--_  
 _I hear them still as oft as swallows’ calls._  
 _My masters chide me for my wand’ring mind_  
 _When I my studies thoughtlessly eschew_  
 _Yet I know I shall never hope to find_  
 _A worthier affection to pursue._  
 _What knowledge of the world I may here gain,_  
 _Can never match the love between us twain._

_I can only pray that your thoughts light on me as often as mine turn to you, sweet Ophelia. Thine evermore, etc.,_  
 _Hamlet_

| _three_ |

“Thus, to show justice, a ruler must -- as much as any ruler may be commanded by the musings of the common man -- though any ruler must be ruled in turn by the will of the Lord, which can be found out by thorough examination of the Bible and the laws of mankind in those times -- in some cases include a trifle of mercy into his discretion, and to his good judgement (though not so good as the Lord’s Judgment, for we are imperfect beings) shall he (or must he) affix--”

“Is there much more of this?” Horatio asked, clutching his head.

“Pages,” Hamlet said. “Noble Polonius fancies himself a scholar of the law. I wrote last week to my mother about our disputation with Master Dietmar on the balancing of justice with mercy, and now I receive a treatise on the subject from our learned friend. A merciless punishment, if ever there was one.”

“Cruel indeed,” Horatio said. “Pray you, rehearse your future kingly duties now, and show me mercy by reading no more of it.”

“I believe the will of the Lord that way tends as well, for look, a mighty wind arises!” Hamlet tossed the papers up in the air and let them fall where they may, spreading themselves over desk, bed, and floor. “I know not what lesson I was _meant_ to take from this muddle, but the lesson I have learned is never to trust my mother to keep her confidence. In future I shall report to her on nothing of more substance than the weather.”

“Ah, but look here,” Horatio said, skimming a page that had lighted on his shoulder. “The scholar requests the honor of a reply, and begs to know whether his arguments are like to those of your masters.”

Hamlet made a rude noise. “In that they are composed of words, and those words of letters, they are alike. I should not insult either one by making further comparison.” He moved a piece of parchment that had settled dangerously near a candle and sighed heavily. “But I must answer him -- my father loves him, though I know not why.” He swept the pages off his desk and brought out pen and ink.

“Will you write him a true disputation?” Horatio asked, collecting the jumbled pages into a neat pile.

Hamlet shot him an incredulous look. “That would require me to read the damned thing in whole. No, Horatio, the student learns best who reads from the best sources.” He scribbled a few lines on a scrap of parchment. “Take this note to the bookseller. Bid them bind a copy of Master Dietmar’s new commentary on the _Corpus Juris Civilis_ \-- but before they sew it, bid them take every fourth page and change it with its neighbor, so that the text appears whole and yet cannot be made sense of. I will follow with purse to pay them.”

Horatio frowned. “To what purpose?”

“Why, to make the argument like to that of my good lord Polonius,” Hamlet said, grinning. “Go, and I will follow once I have writ a message to accompany the lesson.”

_Esteemed councillor,  
Your musings on the balance of justice and mercy were well received; they arrived directly to my doorstep. Your exposition put me in mind of this commentary I here enclose on Justinian’s _Corpus Juris Civilis_. Newer students to the study of law often find Master Dietmar’s works difficult, but a scholar such as yourself should find it no trouble to find out his meaning. Wishing you all the joy that comes of fulfilling study, etc., Prince Hamlet_

| _four_ |

“So she said to the priest--”

“I pray you, peace!” Rosencrantz glared fiercely at Guildenstern. “You will make me lose the thread of my thinking.”

“My apologies.” Guildenstern leaned closer to Horatio and spoke in a hushed tone. “And so, the maiden said to the priest--”

“Stop up your mouth!” Rosencrantz snapped. “No one cares to hear your tired jokes, and I am trying to study.”

“There’s three weeks yet till your examination,” Guildenstern complained. “Must we be as dour as you until that time? Shall merriment never be allowed?”

“Not while I am studying,” said Rosencrantz through gritted teeth.

“Then why do you not study in our rooms where it is quiet, and leave the tavern for a place of noise?”

“Our rooms are quiet as the grave, and put me out of a mind to study. I must have some noise, but not too near, nor too loud.”

Guildenstern looked at him askance. “And how are we to measure ‘too near’ and ‘too loud’? The thought of your examination has addled your brains. You shall surely fail it.”

“Enough,” Hamlet said loudly, putting a firm hand on Rosencrantz’s shoulder to press him back into his seat. “Leave him be, and take your joking elsewhere. It mars my writing, and besides, I have heard that jest before, and you have marred it in the telling.”

Guildenstern stood and walked off with indignation to find another table of friends. Horatio moved nearer to Hamlet on the bench, peering over his shoulder to see what he wrote.

“Another request to prolong your term of study?” he asked. “You will outlearn your masters, at this rate.”

“Impossible,” Hamlet said, “For they began before my time, and still will study onward. Thought is infinite, and there is much I have not yet touched on. If learning were the ocean, I am but wet up to my knees. I needs must study _more_.”

“What hope you to learn?” Horatio asked quietly. “Think you there are some secrets in your well-thumbed books you have not yet discovered?”

“No, but there are other books, and greater; other teachers, and wiser. Man has not yet discovered all secrets of the world, and will not but by patient working find them out.”

“Mean you to be a part of some great discovery?”

“Is there discovery that is not great?”

Horatio shrugged, and Hamlet smiled. “Thought is my bread and butter, philosophy my wine,” he said. “If I should leave off those things, I should waste away into nothing.

“That is a fair turn of phrase,” Horatio said, “Only take care not to surfeit on philosophy. One may grow drunk.”

“And in the ecstasy of that intoxication will new ideas flourish,” Hamlet said. “But your point is well-taken. I will know when I have had enough.”

_H. to his most noble father, greeting. My lord, although my graduation was expected in some few months, I beg your leave to study a while longer here at Wittenberg. The reasons for this request are innumerable, as learning itself may never end, but I will here relate those most pressing.My course of study is not as yet complete, as I have barely begun to think on rationalism and those more modern philosophies. Several new masters will begin to lecture next month, and what I have heard of their discourse moves me to stay and hear more. In addition, the subject of Law requires something more of my attention, for if I am to rule well in my time I must seek to understand its precepts and foundations. For these and other reasons do I beg your majesty’s permission to stay a while longer and continue to improve my mind and faculties. I will of course await your pleasure, and set the date for my final examinations should you so request it; but I have hope you will heed my humble request and permit me stay. If I hear nothing from you, I shall interpret that as assent, and remain until you say. Wishing your majesty all good health, your loving and your loyal son, Hamlet._

| _five_ |

The door to Hamlet’s lodgings stood ajar, but the man in question was nowhere to be found. A quick conference with the landlord gave the impression of a wild rush from the room and house out into the streets of Wittenberg, sans cloak or other guard against the cold. Horatio took a cloak from where it lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, closed the door carefully, then set out into the city. 

The bells were chiming an hour’s passing when he finally caught up with Hamlet, sitting under a tree next to the road just outside the borders of the city. Hamlet’s eyes were red-rimmed, and he pressed a folded piece of paper to his chest with one white hand. 

Horatio settled down on the sparse grass and handed Hamlet’s cloak to him. His friend put it to the side and continued staring up at the clouded horizon. 

Finally, he took a long, shuddering breath. “My father is dead.” 

Horatio remained silent for a moment, then asked, “What happened?” 

Hamlet shrugged. “A snakebite, or so my mother tells me. He lay down to rest a while in the garden, never to awake.” 

“And are you then to return to Elsinore?”  
“Aye, for the funeral and the coronation,” Hamlet said, his lip curling up at the last word. 

Horatio sprang to his feet and bowed deeply. “Your majesty, I forget myself.” 

“Sit you down, Horatio,” Hamlet spat. “Tis not my coronation I’ll attend.” The hand holding the letter clenched, marring the paper with a sharp crunch. “Mine uncle has already won election while I sat idly by in study here, with no knowledge of this dread event.” 

Horatio sat down heavily. “How came all this so suddenly? Why were you not sent word?” 

“The courier was waylaid.” Hamlet’s voice was biting. “Or so says the note on the outside of this missive. A month it’s been since my father died, and a week since the election. I must for home immediately if I wish to see my father buried.” He seemed to realize that his hand crushed the letter, for he held it up to the light, then set it on his leg and smoothed the wrinkles. “No more for me these vaunted halls of learning. The text I now must study is made of grief and death, and other things more sharply real than words.” 

“I have no doubt you’ll make some good commentary on it,” Horatio said. 

“Aye, and who shall read it?” Hamlet said bitterly. “Silly courtiers, fawning sycophants, my uncle, my mother? No. Commentaries are for philosophy, which could explain the world were all things as they ought to be. Outside the pages of our books, however, things are never as they ought.” He bit his lip. “And especially now.” 

His face crumpled and folded in on itself as tears overwhelmed him. Horatio put a tentative hand on Hamlet’s shoulder, and Hamlet turned his face in to rest on Horatio’s arm, tears wetting the sleeve of Horatio’s shirt. 

The bells in the city rang a distant half-hour, and Hamlet sat back against the tree, setting his jaw. “Thank you, friend,” he said softly, then pushed himself to his feet and offered Horatio a hand. “I must rid my heart of such weakness for a time, for I have a hard ride home ahead of me.” 

“Will you return?” Horatio asked. 

“That waits upon the king my uncle’s pleasure,” Hamlet said. “But if I may, I will. I am not done with study, nor with thought.” He managed a grim smile. “You have not seen the last of my company, Horatio. That I promise.” 

And taking his cloak from the ground, he walked back towards the city. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to my beta R, and to all the wonderful nonnies who helped me with research!
> 
> The first letter in this fic is heavily based on a form letter often used by medieval students to ask their parents for more money; I took it from [this book](http://www.elfinspell.com/UniversitiesTitle.html), which was an invaluable resource.


End file.
